


Treasure Hunters

by mjules



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjules/pseuds/mjules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bit of silly fluff - Hawke and Anders get distracted on the Wounded Coast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasure Hunters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spicyshimmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyshimmy/gifts).



By now they all know that Hawke is notorious for exploring every nook and cranny of every eerily similar cave network they traverse.

"You never know when you'll find the bones of someone who died clutching a priceless treasure!" he'd said once, and even Varric had winced through his chuckles.

It verged on ridiculous, the way he dashes around every corner of the room, searching for deep mushrooms or a rotten barrel with moth-eaten scarves or a pair of torn trousers. (One day, Anders thinks, he would like to know who leaves so many non-serviceable clothing items just strewn around Kirkwall. Or maybe he doesn't.)

It's gotten so that they don't even pay attention anymore; they just wait wherever they are until he's finished; no use following him into narrow crevices and then getting stuck trying to get back out. Varric is rocking on his heels, whistling a jaunty tune, and Merrill is leaning against one of the rock walls, examining the bottom of her foot. Anders ignores his wave of sympathy; it's her own fault for not wearing shoes to the Wounded Coast.

As for Anders, he's bored, shoulder aching where it won't pop into place correctly, scalp itching with a combination of salt air and old cobwebs he can't seem to completely brush out of his hair. It seems like every cave in Kirkwall is full of giant spiders and the traps they leave behnd.

He's walking in circles, staying by the perimeter of the little room, just keeping in motion so he won't fall asleep. It was a late night at the clinic last night, and Hawke had them all up at the break of dawn to come on this little fetch and carry mission.

He's passing by a darkened alcove when something grabs his arm. He yelps, reaching for his staff, but he hears Hawke's shushing and quiet laughter as he's pulled into the shadows.

"Not so loud," Hawke whispers as he nuzzles Anders's face, nose against nose, against cheek, against the rough stubble on his jaw. Anders turns into the gesture, his lips brushing Hawke's beard, and then higher, over the corner of his mouth.

"Were you really so desperate you couldn't wait until we were home?" One of Hawke's hands is sliding down Anders's side now, down to his hip and around, sliding under Anders's coat to skim across the small of his back. "You had to do this here, in a dirty cave?"

Hawke's laughter is like the rumble of distant thunder, warm and deep and raspy in his chest, and Anders nearly melts. It's not the mocking laugh he uses to turn aside uncomfortable questions, to wave off threats. It's the happy sound that only happens on rare occasions, when he slips his chains and the city that gave them to him.

"I couldn't wait another moment," he confirms, kissing up the curve of Anders's neck to his ear. "What good is being a rogue if you can't use the shadows to your advantage now and then?"

Anders doesn't answer, just shifts so their kisses finally meet, lip to lip, tongue to teeth. It's clumsy until they get their rhythm, until Anders remembers how to shift so that Hawke's thigh fits between his, one strong arm around his waist, one fond hand cupping his jaw, threading through his hair.

Anders can't help the sound he makes when Hawke rocks forward, pressing them together through layers of cloth, and he hears Varric clear his throat from out in the cavern, then another whistled bar of a taproom song.

"Where do you suppose Hawke and Anders went?" Merrill chirps, and Anders jerks against Hawke, age-old instincts and the fear of being caught stealing kisses in a corner coming back to haunt him. Hawke settles him with firm hands and the pressure of soft, loving lips against the side of his nose. "Do you think they left us?"

"No, Daisy, I'm sure they're around here somewhere."

Anders wonders if he's imagining the heavy emphasis on Varric's last syllable, a warning to the two of them to come out now, but Hawke doesn't seem to care. The hand at Anders's waist is getting bolder, sliding down into the back of his trousers and cupping the warm flesh there.

"How d'you know that? I can't see them anywhere." A pause, and Hawke tongues the curve of his earlobe. "Oh! D'you think they've learned an invisibility spell, then? And they're just waitin' to jump out at us to scare us? How naughty of them!"

Anders choked on a laugh, and he felt Hawke's smile.

"No, Hawke's probably just...looking for hidden treasure in one of the crevices, Daisy."

This time Hawke faltered, a soft, amused huff against Anders's throat before he continued his explorations.

"Say, why don't we go ahead to the next room, and they can catch up once they're done treasure-hunting?"

"Sure, all right. I don't know why they bother though." Merrill's voice drifted farther away, toward the passage in the opposite wall. "All we ever seem to find down here is a bunch of trousers that need mending."

Varric's cough was loud enough to echo through the room, and Merrill said, "What? What is it? Did I miss something dirty?"

Hawke laughed again, low and dark, and Anders tilted his head back, suddenly more than content to indulge Hawke's endless search for treasure.


End file.
